Earth, and for that matter the entire universe, is neither good nor bad. It is merely a sphere of senseless matter. It doesn't give a shit whether we live or die. It doesn't care that its tectonic plates rub against each other every now and then. It doesn't shed a tear (or for that matter laugh with joy) every time it spews incinerating lava. It doesn't give a rat's arse if its soil is fertile enough or if it rains enough. Its actions are unpremeditated. It is indifferent, apathetic, unthinking, and callous. That is nature, and that is its nature. And so it's left to you and me, in a place of indifference, to make a difference. -jimmy 'the lab rat' http://pinkynthebrain.blogspot.com/

Another break's coming on while one's rounding up. Whilst the undergraduate's plight is begining, the school kid's flight does too. While the uncluttering and the reduction of rust starts,so does the joyous jaunting of schooling passed. The daunting days of white shirts, green pants and black hairs flee as sudden as my sleepy daze in a lecturer's gaze. 'Discipline' enforced in its most technical term are now no longer observable on the streets. All that will abound are the blonde browns of our local Golden Boys: Malaysian idles wandering and wondering at game parlours and 'unyuppy' cybercafes. The even younger ones will be play-acting with such imagination and talent that would make Keanu Reeves, Colin Farell and Orlando Bloom blush with an undignified shame, even though hootings and shriekings are mostly all that emotes. On the other side of the fence, a side which is much greener from experience as some might say, the stomping and cutting of lalang left to grow in the mental field continues. However revamping the scholarly, academically aimed mind is harder than eating your greens, as I may sway. Inertia blocks momentum from developing. Loathing puts labour in a bad light. And procrastination, although just as bad as castration, pushes the lamp further and the bed closer. The arduously aching thoughts of your lesser, tween queen kins frolicking with a freed feet are as pervasive as the wailing voices from sczhophrena. Their gain will be your bane as you lapse in and out of your lecture halls. Thoughts aplomb of their cheers for cuti-cuti will haze that study maze further. But not to worry, for the most mundane tasks will prove to be the best cure for holiday hangovers. Soon the generic, dull drills of everyday campus life will bring back that familar flavour of receptive blandness. The cold showers. The long strides. The even colder and longer lectures. The shoving of crap, not only out of your bowels in the toilet,but also into your gut at the canteen. All these will remind you and 're-deaden' your vacation synapses from transmitting. Yet, in spite of the broken will of this lazy hack, there are still do many who in faith transmit a message of joy and hope uncomprehensible even to a spinster's sly. During tis season to be jolly (with all certainty an irony...hey that rhymes!) his voice will reside with those whose rise to greatness is due to a 'lack of proffesional training'. A party of sorts will be held at the Dewan on this December 12th. A remarkable stage to an even more noble cause. Wheither it may be to cushion the blow of coming back to university, or the futility of obtaining four flats, or a girlfriend, or friends, or a fictional Santa's warm and caring love (BTw, 'warm and caring love', even not from Father Xmas, is not real either) , it certainly does smooths that oh-so-human path. (except for those whose lifestyles require a change of the former 'or's with 'ands' in the previous sentence.) A bit of a byte: Seeing Lee Syiong singing would be a good morale boost. Hearing it on the other hand will produce the opposite effect. However, the vocal vibes from trakea being choked shall not be a problem for the majority of us undergraduates as we are already deaf from blabering lectures. Lee Syiong on stage and off key is the ultimate panache for those campus blues. So here I go, as well as another 30,000 (a rough, very rough estimate), marching back , back to university.

It was and still is. A Bush presidency, this time no longer plagued by the issue of popular legitimacy. With a significant and comfortable majority, the sins and memories of Florida 2000 are bent to be overcomed. The magic number was 3.5 million. 3.5 million more for Bush than Kerry. 3.5 million more for a perceived just war leadership than a reluctant 'just for kerry'. 3.5 more for forgetfulness or forgiveness than forsakeness for a misleading reason to occupation. 3.5 million more undisturbed than unconvinced of his economic policies, his role in the growing deficit and his tax cut for the rich. 3.5 million more frightened of terrorism than its handling. 3.5 million more for the centre-right, and those pretending to be in its pragmatic grasp. Even among the presence of much more pressing issues, one came up to define this round, this bout, dominating the rest with a zealous demand and drive which only a deep,intense belief on its value could bring;moral state of america. By beating up the Bush base, Karl Rove did the unexpected, or at least unanticipated. Social conservatives and evangelicals poured into the polls, garnering a straight, coherent, organized punch against an ambigious protest movement. Such muscle pushed and pulled in the Bush vote further and deeper into the marginally Red and Blue and those critically swing states. to be continued...

The US election just passed, with the counting coming to an end. Only left in tow is that crucial Ohio, as well as Iowa and New Mexico. Final turn out so far: Kerry 252, Bush 254. To win, one needs 270 electoral votes.Despite that, Bush wins the popular vote by half a million. Ohio, been in sight as individually the most important state by both sides, is the kingmaker in this bout. With about a gain of around 23 to the victor,it obviously takes him beyond that line to legitimacy. The current tallies stand with Bush leading with just a 2% majority. However, that 2%, while being a small margin of difference, compromises a large number of votes, around 100k. The only ballots untouched are those considered provisional: votes contraversially considered ineligable. A large turnout was registered with 60% hearing and bearing heeds of its importance this time around. Informally, Bush is expected to get his second term. Although Ohio is still officially in count with its provisional votes still untampered, those votes are likely to be reduced to a pile which is incapable to compensate those 100k votes for Bush. Not to mention that a significant volume of them would probably be considered cracked. So, what made Bush tick this time? Unlike 2000? Well, wait for tommorow for analysis. This global citizen is dozing offfffffffffffffffffffffffff

The Break has set in. The paper chase finally came to a halt, albeit a temporary one. At last, studies' chains are off, sending thousands scampering around in search of relief and release. Some went back to kampung galore, while others brought ahead plans in hand. Yet all aim for that sacred lax where both body and mind are just left untaxed, unrestrained from the labour of constant assessment. As summarized in this short stanza: Semester's spent and stress's vent, as sanity is retrieved and rest is reprieved. In full joy, we subsequently catched up with time. No more deadlines ad mist. No more classes amiss. Just a moment of us being at peace with our surroundings and, most importantly, of ourselves. Doubts, doubts of our abilities and our worth, whether of our competance or our complexion, are in no respute in these periods of calm. The ego's aback, the male wihin's aside. Layers are peeled, and what's bare is that sensitive, fragile self we were afraid to show or ,at worst, explore. "Before exams, tough-skinned orc pions we are, 'work work' After it, we turn back to being human, weak and meek"-Thierry 'French Toast costs 50 sen, and so is my philosophy' Chang. Being our true selves can be tough, and it helps to let loose in such moments for relax.

With just days ahead and the months behind, the first semester's pomp finale isnt any simple fling. It is now down to a few nights. Countable on my available digits. Time seemed to slow down, to take on meaning as a sudden realisation of its reprecussions came in. Bullet time with a touch of zen. Yet the bygone months felt fleeting. Perhaps that is what happens when time dilates. The past appears illusionary, fast forwarded at 16X times normal speed. Or was it just because of the day dreaming I did during all those lectures? Wanderings are after all an everyday wonder. Along together with this new awareness comes the confusing screams of its monologues. How peculiar. Realization begets more 'mental noise' Szchizophrenia in the flex? Repetitious strings of cheesy 'movie name'-ish phrases resonate within my cerebral cortex;'CGPA 2.0:The Hunt for The Brood Burden', 'Study and Hatch" and of course 'Bujang Lapok'. Clique threats with a tone of class prejudice rose up, to become prevalent if not acceptible in my phyche. Amplifying this is the sober remindings of a stint promoting a self acclaimed 'health product', in the process of which my (mental) health is dangerously compromised. With just days ahead in wait, with the months behind in waste, the first semester's pomp finale isnt any simple fling. However, the inersial grindings of loath ensumes to engulf all those witch threatens its existence. In spite of the tweaks, the thoughts of dread and, of course, guilt, a refined sense of 'boh chap' and deliberate ignorance counters any attempt at action. Someone may quote pain as gain, but I say gain is pain.

The library chair. A sturdy hack of processed cheap timber compromised to an even cheaper budget. Ergonomically unsound, its fond identification as a ‘chair’ by the masses has tricked many into its trappings. Soon enough, I too was hashed by this ultimate deception. Its shapely edges began to stab almost decisively as I place my buttocks and back on and against its polished planks.Before long, its blunt corners nudge deep into my flabby flesh. Cholesterol dampens none of its tight thrust into the surrounding meat, especially those around my hips. Yet in between pressured backs and pressed bottoms, the mind was pulled deep into the most elegant of intellectual frolics. A hard cover was placed on the soft wood table top in front of me. My literate self was ready for anything with a secured Romanised footing. If not the alphabet song and the calling out of individual synonyms in sequence would do fine as a guide. Claims and critism alike were jolted down with a touch of Indian ink, printed on pieces of modern papyrus that were sewn together as a slab of data known as the book. My eyes bare witness to their boastful assertions as my vision suffers only from a mere case of terminal short sightedness. Short distances, such as that from the kornea to a book, are still competent. I took it all in a go. The sentences. The words. The letters. Yet, something was amiss. A hollowed aftertaste, similar to those emotions after an orgasmic-less love or in a man’s lust was felt. Then it hit. The coalescing of intelligent scribbling makes no sense! Just like poetry, it was explicitly implicit! It flowed, my flawed cognitive as it stutters amid abstracts. Concepts seem alien, what more their degrees of affiliation! The iceberg bears none, except for its tip. 'Yang tersirat' in metaphors, imagery, antropomorphisms and the likes were hidden under the deep blue artic sea, jealously guarding the secrets of unscrupluous academic blabber. In an attempt at gathering some hope, I begin to discern, to unravel a pattern of thought for a more systematic method of understanding. The colluded mechanisms of the theoretical universe surely must allow a peep for the humble eye. As it turns out, the mysterious workings of the mind, well at least mine’s, hark on simplicity and a five second attention span. Thus from the former the only direct course of action would be to tediously deduce and to fragmentise ideas to understandable components. What a brilliant plan! My ego was restored! I took it in a stash, only to realize later after a series of applications that the latter ensues for surrender in the end. A slight strain was felt. In order to relieve it, the torso was tilted upward. The spine, stiff from a prolonged pose, was finally relieved from the bow noticed during long readings. A crackle was heard. The sound of air gushing out from relieved pockets released much accumulated stress. to be continued...

In light of a recent incident that is making news nationwide here, it would be worth highlighting some words from a fellow blogger. "Justice is still but far when a high court judge can make a 'mistake' that cost a man his freedom? This is not a matter of us humans making mistakes, but it is a question of what made a human being willing to make 'mistakes'. This is not a matter of justice but a matter of power where justice can be put under the influence of power to execute injustice. It takes a man of power to endure and fight back tirelessly for his justice. Without that power to generate resources, a normal condemned person would be condemned far longer Sometimes when power corrupts, it takes power to fight corruption, not justice." -gotterdamug "Sometimes when power corrupts, it takes power to fight corruption, not justice". (For grammatical soundness, this quote was edited. However, much of the message intended by the blogger was left intact )

There cannot be a more ample time to write. The fact that we're now way within our institutions of higher learning makes me reckon at the suddent ideal for good marks. This arrises after a month or two of lectures. Finally it comes to the point where no student, no matter how dumbfolded could simply excuse him or herself with the reason of being still 'fresh' to the surroundings and the subjects at hand. To even extend this newfound need for 'four flats', your peers will now be people with a face and a name. After exploring the horizons of this new environment with an eagerness not rivalled since the days of Standard One, they too will be all hyped up with getting or attaining the status of being the creame de la creame of scholarship. The fact that they know and recognise you opens up a whole new irony, a whole new fear to it;Being somebody exposes you to the risk of being nobody. Anyone left behind will be ostracist under the banner 'Meritocrat', which is as degrading as the other noun 'dropout'. It seems this to be the case for the students of my ethnic range. For many of those engaging fully in the finesse of study and 'further-reading' are the people affiliated with my skin. They have been brought up under institutions which regard success as synonymous with attaining perfect scores. Any attainment other than that will be foolish, and so 'face' will fade from his or her dignity. Being a 'model minority' really adds to the campus heeds, as it pressure cooks your celebral cortex along together with 11 special herbs and spices, according to a Secret Recipe (to Sucess) known to all yet not by all. This shade of humanity demands plenty from those outside its band and even more from those within it, far from the simple attainment of a band of distinction. Amazing, a plain hue of yellow could make you thrive for flying colours. Further extending the potential pain from psychological pressure is my the symbolism attacted to my name: It literarily spells perfection! Living up to it is deep down in my psyche. The consequences will be catastrophic if I do not. The butt from jokes cracked from an obvious obversation of contrast. So, here begins the rat race yet again. And I'm far from the cheese.

Dear readers, As soon as Soon here gets his act together, he will definitely post a few jottings about university life and the continuing endeavours of his group of friends in Tanjung Golden Cinemas...

It will be, yet again, some time till the next post, for this author will spend the rest of next week in a place of unremitting torture called the IPTA. With all sincerity, this blogger believes that our tax payer's money are going into an institution that gives leeway to inhumane compromises made by its 'holier-than-thou' administration. Hopefully, with the advent of the digicam, we might hope a courageous soul might attempt to record the violence of activities done under the euphenism 'Ragging' (just like Abu Graib). Those who are concerned for the well being of your favourite blogger can contribute to his 'Save Goh' campaign by heartfully donating a month's worth of labour to Goh's particular account at the nearest Bumiputra-Commerce Branch [I'm forced to used it. Another ruling made by our 'efficient' bangsawan bureaucrats.(does not include public servants :))].

Planet of The Apes? In conjunction with the response for our IPTA (Local University)applications, our simian friends decided that the time was right for rebellion to begin: "Monkeys Wreck Havoc in Campus"-News Straits Times, 3rd June 2004 Let it be known that this wasn't another local case of mass hysteria (which is common among sororities in Malaysia) where the usual 'treatment' for such an event was to bring in the kampung bomoh to 'cleanse' the surrounding area from evil spirits. During Chinese New Year, I was an ( and the only human) eyewitness to a gathering of beruks. ( Please do refer to my 22nd of January posting) It has been some time since then. It has been horribly quiet too. Now finally, perhaps after months of preparations, they're coming out to the masses in masses. Humanity, beware. Never thought you may see the day where animals organize.Animal Farm this ain't, but truth is always stranger than fiction.

For the past week, 4A students have taken hold of our nation's conciousness.With all their rage, they grasp and grab in full fury without mercy. It was such a suffocating affair that even the PM was forced to acknowledged their demands! How preposterous! The strongest, the most organised of our opposition parties can't shake our current government in equal strides! I feel more pity for Hadi Awang and his gang of sanctimonious supporters. Why promise a ticket to paradise when all you have to do to get a response is to take the STPM? Is STPM harder than politics? Or is it just Hadi Awang's IQ? Okay, enough about state affairs. P.A's over. We can now all just blend in back into our ignorant, apathetic silent majority.(being a hypocrite here, I readily admit) These 4A students should start allying themselves with the Beruks(read the last post) and launch a coup de tat in Malaysia. After that, every form 6 student should be obliged to take medicine as his major course. And Wira of Kuala Lumpur'98 fame should be prime minister. Rather than go further on an issue that has been the specktacle of the media for the past few days, I would like to rant about those who receive less-than-brilliant results. It is undeniable that these few 128 have worked their guts out for their remarkable results. (An exception is to be made for those born with Viknesk-like brains. One of them is a particular Free School student who, in her own words describe F6 life as "sleep and play everyday". For their efforts, it has been a goal for me to present these select few with gurgles of constipated, rabid Tibetan Yak's vomit) It is also irrefutable that there have been countless numbers of other average scoring students with a passion of medicine, and would probably make fine doctors one day. Are exams exquisite? Are they really RM500 ringgit lobsters in Chef Wan's terminology? Are they everything? Trust me, I've tasted lobster before (for free!), and they aren't that good as the popular conception it holds. Without a talented, enthutiastic chef and his arsenal of spices, sauces and kitchenware, it would be nothing more than a big chunk of meat of a creature with attributes similiar to the hedious insectoids(Kevin included) of Aliens. What we need more is compassionate, responsible, loving and of course interested apprentices of healthcare. I know. Pragmatism comes into frame. The only way we could determine whether a person is qualified at least technically in a certain field is through the Paper. There is nothing for me do disagree with this. However, wouldn't it be nice that prerequisites for such courses should take into account more of 'field work' and also (yes, even) the applicants sincerity? Why don't we place a more appropriate merit for activities done like volunteering at the local orphans welfare centre or retiree's home? Or at the children's care unit in their local hospitals and at NGOs like the Malaysian Aids Council? Why must it be disapportionately be grades, grades and grades? Remember Path Adams? (it is adamant that he too, despite his good heart, will bear the brunt of my Yak vomit for his superior intellect) Even our academic syllabus could be less exam oriented and more assignment driven. Afraid that objectivity might be compromised? Or do we just fear creativity? Interview sessions can also be held to give lecturers a more rounded introduction to the people they might be teaching. This way, an individual's knowledge of a subject beyond text books can also be comprehended. Think all of this is just a bit too combersome? Not practical? Take a look at a few countries. Singapore. The UK. Cuba (proving that a developing country can't just excuse itself with the 'resourses are stretched' argument) All of these have implemented all or some of the policies that I had just written about. After all is vented into words, I believe I've conveyed some of my perspective in full public view (silent majority, I still am?) After all these are on the rakyat's eyes, I too believe that none of these will ever be considered. For democracy is healthy in this country. P.S: Democracy, in Aristotle's Politics, is 'the rule of the mass mob' Oh, before ending, please, please do visit this bloke's site. (highly recomended for those in fly infested, dung beetle encoated rotting shit.)

I know, I know. I've done it again. Inconsiderately I've left most of my readers in the dark, without even a hinting a slight reference (of a sentence or so)on the current happenings of my life. What's more I've over done it this time (Three weeks since my last posting). However, in spite of this sudden silence which last nearly over a month's time, I believe that there is still a significant number of my readers out there who, out of reverence and idolatry, refused to relent to reason. The tweaks and nips of the cheek causes my lips to stretch and wrench, emoting an expression much reserved from the Asian (but nauseously pursued by Xaverians) reffered to as 'laughter', when my mind came upon the image of my fillial followers. Snapshots of imnsomnia, coffee and burdened, blackened eyes came into my vivid imagination. Only one other class of people would fit the figure just mentioned: footie fanatics (whom, may I add are insolent idols of the burly male with a flair for "half ball or one half ball" game theory). To soothe the pain and indignity that may have encumbered these special group of potential cultists, the justification for my recent absense this time around doesn't involve gluttony or apathy. It was due to an obligatory attendance in activities done in my local campus. Yes, in spite of months if not years of indolent, ignoble existence, this particular blogger did make it in to university. The few weeks that went by was spent dodging seniors (especially those with a jacket, officially entited PPSM) and lecturers alike. Queues at the local registration centre and food outlet too persist, with success only attained in the former and never the latter. In compensation for the lost hours of my fellow fans, I would like to announce that the future will be bright for me, anyway. After much needed training during Orientation Week, I've fully been absorbed into this new title of scholar legerdemain. The everlasting axiom "Rules are made to be broken" will be consistent in my everday life as an undergraduate. In part, I would like to thank the Sifu Square for his indepth knowledge of deception and intrigue. "Boobs and Booze" are to become my new dictum. Of course as usual I may have to improvise as the scarcity of C cups are still prevalent and the fact that I don't drink (and the fact alchohol is illegal) comes into mind. Perhaps grape juice and FHM Singapore will be it. As because the vivacious vigour of Menara Gading calls, I have to finish here. Before I end, may I offer some food for tought: (and not tought for food, which is common during lunch hours here) "Intelektualisme ialah Bujang Lapok!"* *'Bujang' is bachelor in Malay. University students are going to be bachelors, in their fields of study and also their social life. 'Lapok' here means 'outdated'. Combined and you get something called 'meritocracy'.

Dear readers, Even if you may have doubts about this blogger's mental state, nothing can prepar you for this 'site-for-soreyes'. (forgive the pun). The following site may make you shiver in horror as the sheer tenacity of its nonsense inspired content may even make the worst of Duriangoh's articles the gleaming, grand produce of modern civilisation:
Kisah Benar: Deegol and Smeegol

In contribution to a friend who had left Penang a year ago for the island of honey,money and no chewing gums, I would like to give you, my fair readers, an intimate insight into the academic and intellectual workings of Marcel Leng. Here are among his two formost poems: Oh, Hell NUS!!-Marcel Leng Damnation befalls on one side of the fence and bless'd are those on the other, one side works and toils with no defence, while the other side jokes with one another. Work we do and work we get, a single work done begets three in turn, and insurmountable odds we have, and our work ever tempted to be burned. Work pile up while we rest, and work pile up even when we work! Hell as it is, they named it education, and stuff it at NUS as it is. Damn the paper, makes me look like a fool, who can't even add one together to make two. And yes... the moral of this half-baked poem is but one, fuck NUS. Nonsense-Marcel Leng Look back, remember, time goes by, return, never. Work hard, have fun, most importantly, eat lunch. Right hand, left hand, both equal and opposite, just the perfect composite. The sun, the sky, come on, don't be shy! I sit you stand, you sit I stand, this is why, we never see eye to eye. I have to say bye.

I woke up in the wee hours of a still asleep cockeral, due to a heavy load of fresh orange juice sloshing around in my kidneys. If it were to be put in the standard local time, it would be 6.00 a.m. After I had cleared my exquisite load of liquified fresh Vitamin Cs, I went wiggling back into the chambers of my own blankets. Hoping to induce a loud snore which was usually followed by a period of unconciousness, I closed shut instantaneously both my eyelids. However, lady luck wasn't with me. I continued to be awake. What am I going to do? Get out of bed? For Kee Chai's sake, there is nothing to do this early! It was my luck that I remembered that a peculiar looking parabolic dish was stuck on the rooftop. ASTRO, the entity was called, is the main cause the Cable Guy was forced to get a new job. For cable was ol’ school compared to this piece of ceramic cum high polimered plastic jutting out into the far beyond. There I was with a reason to get those sapped limbs moving from my small, tiny quarters to the spacious living room. My desire for the continuing denial of my existence(what else? sleeping,duh) was still begging, a big gush of air was taken in. Soon, it was released in a loud, piercing gurgle of vocals similiar to the shrieks of scramjets.(YAAWWWN! *sniff*). In spite of the apparent inertia of things, I struggled against this motionless body which was willingly chained to the entity of slumber. In a few minutes, I was within the living room. A couch, with pairs of decorative pillows came into my view A loud stud was heard. It was me, retiring my perfectly symetrical biological bumpers (glutinous maximus) on the soft cushions. After my favourite muscles were relaxed, my back slittered to the contours of the chair lazily. My sights then swerved to the right. I was shocked by an emanating brilliance that the world has never seen. Minute eyes were suddenly bulged, haplessly short sighted korneas were abruptly widened, as I focus almost reverantly on that sacred item of unadulterated grace. Spontaneously my right arm began to swing with my elbows staightened, lifting the full weight of that hairy, simian hand towards the direction of the Nobled Treasure. My digits of five were positioned in a way to seize and to snatch. A sense of desperation was felt yet followed. Slowly but surely my monologues were being dominated by the repetition of a single phrase, over and over again: “My Precioussss.” Such was the will of the remote. It was carved and crafted by the ironsmiths of Phillips, tricked into it by the Dark Lord ASTRO. Anyway, with everything set, I switched on The Big Box of Moving Pictures. Despite electrons being splattered (technically it would be ‘collided’ but ‘massacred’ seemed better. Since this blog is a family oriented site, I would have to do with ‘splattered’) on the wide open screen to satisfy my 5 minute attention span, my moral conscience was clear from the haunting images of magnetic and electromagnetic fields torturing, humiliating not to mention accelerating former ionless, randomly moving particles of space ala Abu Graib (Iraq) style. Perhaps it was the Dark Lord of ASTRO that set me straight. The atrocities were paying off. Different vector coordinates involving the Tormentor Anod harassing the ill-fated electrons into sexually and socially (yes, electrons do have a social and love life. You can just find them on Friendster! Or ogling at Playtron bunnies) compromising poses form patches of red, blue and green. It was the bloom of technicolour! The first pictures were arising. Animated motion was detected. At last, a vivid, anatomically humanoid creature with two eyes, two ears, two legs, two hands, a mouth, anose and a body without a head ( or is that a head without a body?) was seen. There, the familiar tunes were sung with a Carribean Pirate’s accent: “Who lives in a pinapple under the sea...” The rest was history. I spent the next 10 hours (excluding bathing, eating etc.) lying motionless on the cool, cozy settee further impairing my already less-than-20/20 vision.The usual slack was around the corner, coercing me to do nothing except laze onto the giant couch with some highly nutritious keropok on one hand and a remote on the other. Nothing else was up on demand, except for writing this blog.

Hi there! Just testing the 'comments' system...whatever that means

Please be noted that this post isn't a conclusion of the previous article. It is just part of another piece of jumbled, incoherent sentences that Goh needs to vent out, publicly. It is hoped that my current readers will not react to these vaguely structuralised, not to mention edited, paragraphs with remorse or retribution, in which this particular author will be the main target of 'eggs with flour' episodes. Here now, I shall begin. For the first time in history, The Guest of Men Is without any Journey No more srtides Beyond familiar ground For today, He stood, steadfast and without shoes On the comfort Of his marbled floor In that sanctuary which is called 'home' Wahahah! Dear Brewmaster here was within his house 24/7! A record! A record in domestic endurance. No lepaking sessions today! This is the first Sunday I've never been out! Oh, its so immaculate! Everything seems unusual, yet casual. The ceiling is so peculiar, yet familiar! Oh, the fan is spinning without due! Never had i felt original wind in its most domestic sense...No more aircons, no more coarse, dirt laden air from congested traffic jams!...whahahah...wahahah Currently reading other people's blogs. Turns out there are dudes out there who are more sick than this current wacko of the Dugong Clan

2nd Birthday Treat: Scooby Doooo... ...Where are youu? Right here in Prangin. In celebration of Lee Syiong’s most celebrated day, me, Viknesk and a couple of Lee Syiong’s coleagues went for an early show. What stuns this author was that the flick was in fact, quite enjoyable. (Paralysing this blogger even more was that Lee Syiong readily sacrifices Ringgits for our glutton at KFC, but that’s another story). It is with regret that I held a grudge against real reel retakes of famous, nolstalgic animations. Cheap makeup and even shoddier quirks involving semi-nude actors and actresses wearing alluminium foils as ‘armour’ or characters supposedly ‘super’ clad in tight, colourful spandex that could make an amphibian’s skin seem coarse had done nothing but wreck this author’s ‘blissful’ childhood memories forever (That is, if you consider watching The Smurfs and Lil’ Miss Pony 5 days per week ‘blissful’. I must be in Eternia during those days!) Among more than ample examples are Viva Rock Vegas and Batman and Robin. (If it were to be my way, I would have Dr Freeze chill the Flinstones and George Cloony into 1 ringgit Popsicles sold in your nearest supermarket) Monsters Unleashed isn’t any Masters of the Universe (watching the latter could cause your korneas to elope). Its surreal,cartoonish flavour does not overtake the live action reality it’s set in. Not only that the various characters are vividly subjected to their very own distinct dillemas, thus fleshing them beyond their 2D counterparts’ stereotypes. (It should be noted that the cause of their very personal problems is an awareness of their own socially construed labels) Take Wilma, for example. Always encumbered by her supposedly nerd-like qualities, Wilma’s hopelessly incapable of being that glamourous, sociable cover girl the world always endow. Even liberating herself from her spectacles through an unforgettable (men would agree) latex suit which shows off her volumptious curves, singing hips, firm angled chests, enticingly demure shoulders, symetrical plump bottom, long slender legs and fair, pearly, slim arms doesn’t help her go far. (All that and she still has an issue with her looks? For Kimochi’s sake, what is wrong with the people behind this sequel?.The director must be gay) It turns out that her crush isn’t allured by her sudden change (He must, must be that gay) and chose to love the inner beauty of Wilma instead. Wilma gets the picture and decides that it is okay to be her normal, geeky self instead. (A great lost to mankind) There were still glitches, of course. With the exception of Wilma’s, the rest of the gang’s deep-seated predicaments weren’t really solved, but were left hanging In spite this,a talking dog and ‘those pesky, meddling kids’, Scooby Doo’s still a nice, decent take. It is with full gratitude to Lee Syiong that we were able to witness the immaculate procession of Wilma’s assets at its full disposal. With sheer delight we were spoilt, pampered, mellowed by the juicy, pulpy exteriors of a ripened virgin Venusian fruit with near exhibitionist tendencies, in which Lee Syiong had a way of attracting. Ronald truly is a babe magnet It is hopeful that instead of a guy who doesn’t know hot from cold, Lee Syiong might score in the next flirt by a totally unexpected chick. (Chelsia?) A final note: Wilma, stay really clear from Viks. Watching you in your best has made his amilase+air meliur dengan meliar. Trust me, it’s even more annoying than Scooby’s panting. 1st Friday Watch in Gurney: 18 ringgit Yes, you heard it right. A double digit deficit caused by an unintentional error. An error rooted in this author’s misunderstanding of time and cost. It was on a bright, sunny day that me and my tormentor Viks decided to have a go in the Gurney cineplex. As it was a bright sunny day, we played a gruelling football match in the morning before we went for a show. It must also be because of the hot gleaming sun that we spent nearly a significant ammount of our pocket money for allegedly quality entertainment. It was 2.00pm in the afternoon. As since our dear Viks was concerned of time and Goh’s apparent mood for something artsy yet economical, we decided to enter the Golden Screens under the tickets of The Cup. After a quick cut at the ticket’s counter, we entered the theartre, slowly creeping in, respectful of a ready crowd who came from far and wide to see this ’98 classic. It was of total suprise, at least to this blogger, that there were only four fans other than us in it. Four is not a crowd, for Thierry Henry’s sake! It wouldn’t even sum as an illegal gathering! How outrageous for a citizen of an authoritarian country! Even though we felt an urge to flee, as our spider senses awere tingling with images of snooze inducing moments, we stood (more like we sat) through thinking that its fate we were here. After all, we payed for it. We took our seats and remain respectfully quiet, low-key. Then, the proverbial curtains (methophorically speaking ) were withdrawn. Slowly, the yellow monochromatic headlights were dimmed from faint to mute. All went silent, only a slight subtle whirl was heard by sensitive ears. It was the sound of the projector, its motors churning, sublimely clanking to rotate the first round of reel. The relative calm was disturbed by a strong booming gush. Rumbles of a raging rush, wobbling richly and resonantly into the room, pass from one end to the other. The woofers were shrieking mad with surround Dolby stereoscopic sounds. Suddenly, the nylon laced screen was filled with a bright, illuminated patch ingrained with only lofty images, slowly but surely growing in size. Our eyes were blurred, vagued, by the enveloping surge of clear white luster.There, the moment of truth was with us, the sense of our paved ringgit was abound. The first scenes were to bare. The anticipation was nude. The restlessness was real. Hearts were pounding. Hands were shaking. Lastly, the portrait was into being and we saw... A truck in an ulu prairie? Wow. What enticement. 9 ringgit for a moving truck in some lalang coated country. Smart move. It is said a book should never be judged by its cover. However, if it were to take account our 5 second attention spans, the former axiom should be false. In every general case, my fair colleagues and me have always have a need for searing sensuous scenes involving anything explosive and anybody erotic. In other words, our tastes involve a requirement for the adjectives ‘Too Fast Too Furious’. (yes, in capital letters, that is how much we need, in AXN terminology, ‘the buzz’) If our urges were to go further, we would be found in the nearest public toilet wrecked, with urine and saliva soaking, saturating our ragged, ravaged attire. On a closer look, our dear readers would have noticed our eyeballs pulsating violently mimicking the movements of independent gas particles (Hukum Brown) Constant, continuing consumption of esctasy pills have caused even the most venomous rat poisons harmless to our immune systems. To be continued...

Seen any movies lately? Because I had. Not only one, but five! With two on birthdays! With certain help from CK, I got a bonus along with these watchings: DVD Marathons! My eyes must really be strained! Reddish dots, representing clots of blood jammed after long term exposure should unearth on my korneas lately. Yet, astonishingly, my composure during the sessions remained steadfast and fresh. Why then, didn’t my eyes gone kaput? For good reason they should have, especially since they’re rated 18-SX and 20-GOH. Got the initials? The reasons for such composure are found in on combinations of two words, each for every movie sessions that we have. 1st Movie Marathon, the magic words: Scary Movie. It isn’t that it was good, not even (definitely not!) decent. With its harpings and takes on grotesque, Viknesk-laden body parts and their excretions, it is surely not of this author’s taste. Imagine this: genitalia bashing, toilet craved strings with continual plays on sexual dysfunction and idiosyncrasy. In other words, Scary Movie was scary. It isn’t that I have a distaste for such brands of humour. It isn’t a trait for Goh here to be in any particular way gentlemanly or in a stronger wording, civilised. For the uninitiated, you’re talking about a guy who sniffs pepper to induce a level 9 sneeze with saliva projectiles ready. ‘Nostrils’ and ‘shabby’ don’t come along together everyday, you know. It is just that Scary Movie’s flabby. The humour just isn’t, well, sophisticated. All it does is expose some nuts and boobs in some ‘quirky’ fashion and calls it a ‘joke’.Pretentious! A boy crying ‘Penis!’ doesn’t really fool anybody (with exception to my ‘clique’)into laughing. Being exhibitionalist makes it all the worse. Looking at someone else’s ding dongs (even though they’re made up of cheap play-doh) up close and personal isn’t what you may call ‘taste’. It gets even more horrible when the ding dongs became homicidal. As so, what’s with it when its so, so bad. The redeeming factor, my readers, is not with me but with my so-called film enthusiasts. For unknown reasons, it makes well-mannered, courteous individuals into feral, restless chimpanzees with a reputation for high pitch shrieks. Leading that path down to George, George, George of the Jungle was Viknesk, Viknesk, Viknesk of Darsh. Isn’t it engaging to witness a fairly respectful, upright man with an IQ of 135 doing an impression of Cheetah in heat? Darsh would be wooed. While I might have been content with a big, sickening smile in being a fellow observer while my other ‘wild’ kins go ‘free willy’* over ‘free willy’**, the temptation of participating is strong. So, there’s it. The reason why Scary Movie’s the code to a happy day. It may not make dudes and dudettes hot chicks like in Dude, but it gives an even better glaze: that of making you and your friends act silly. Dude, sweet! A list of other DVDs: Scary Movie 3, Johny English and Dude, Where’s My Car? 1st Birthday Treat:Jennifer Aniston J.A says it all. The marvel of the celluloid screen without any, thank Kee Chai, cellulites. Nothing’s airbrushed, photoshoped. Just a born beauty, flinging her long silky blonde hair while it sways in the wind. Immaculate. Divine... ...just wish she wasn’t hooked to Ben Stiller though. Along Came Polly, that was our fair game for my birthday. In the roll, Ben Stiller plays a control freak, aptly working his guts as a risk accessment consultant. Everything was just in place, until a french dude arrived and went with his fry too far, breaking Ben’s carefully planned nuptial ‘bliss’ in disaray. Then came along J.A. J.A being the total opposite of Ben with her scruffy sense of life took Ben along the way and made not only him her boyfriend but also a salsa king. Regardless of their differences, both lived happily ever after, in love and unwed. A short sypnosis. An even shorter movie. Nonetheless, every second was sensuous, serving a sacred slate of Jennifer Aniston’s stunning self. Squat was she slept sizzlingly with Safety Stiller. Sucks sassily. After viewing Polly, this blogger learned another one of life’s lessons. No matter what happens, Lee Syiong will always get the girls, especially the ones worthy of the title ‘Goddess’. (There goes Melon) Just wish I was more like suave son Syiong and less seasoned sucker Soonli. *activity done by comatose deprived Party Animals, not hot chicks **‘Cuban Cigar with Rambutans as side order’, hot chick attraction To Be Continued.... feedback

Yesterday marks the day when this loafter finally decided to bring a paycheck in.Finally. no more smirks from Kevin! No more teases with the word 'money' usually coming before 'free' in it! No more quirky Rich Man jokes! I've found acceptance! I'm now a proud member of the "Work-my-arse-up" under 25s. Joining the proto- Yuppies, eh? I'm now officially obsessed, if not addicted, with attaining a commision of 50 ringgit worth. I've now became the benevolent yet fillial pawn for another Money grabbing venture offering pseudo-health products. All these had made me nothing more than the proverbial Slave of the Ringgit. What to do? You're just going with the flow. Anyway, need to wake up early tomorrow. ;)

Vampire hunting’s over! I can’t even believe such a catastrophe could happen! What in the name of Viknesk could have caused this calamity? A spoilt sensor gun, in other words a gun that won’t shoot no matter how hard you jerk it. It’s terrible news. There was really nothing I can say that can heal the rift that has developed between the Gaming Centre and my passion for shoot-em-ups. It was horrendously a betrayal of our fillial loyalty to its code of conduct: Play, play and buy more tokens!. Nevertheless, yesterday was a decent outing. We spent the entire evening playing with balls of various sizes,volumes and weights. Firstly, because our Tai Lo Brother Bear wasn’t at the intended arena yet Mr Melon Maniac decided we may as well do good with a few rounds of pool. There we were hitting, yet again, balls with sticks. This time we have shooting ‘aids’ in the form of longer sticks. Unfortunately, this blogger wasn’t really that fond with the assistance given. It is no secret that we are just a bunch of enthusiast with liltle or no knowledge (not to mention talent) of the game at large. The liltle red balls won’t or just refused to enter into the damn holes! Here’s the list of ‘goals’ scored so far: CK: 4 bola Melon Maniac: 3 bola Me: 2 bola Feats of rage and utter pointlessness outrage the three participants who were, before this game, good and fair sportsmans. Other than these few, exceptional scores the rest of the session was spent on just laying the reddish spheres into an order where a score was assured (that too, was an exertion of futility!). Tai Lo arrived ten minutes before the game’s over. After such a ‘motivating’ set, we moved on to bigger, heavier spheres of comparatively ridiculous porportions. There it was, the Bowling Grounds, the watering wad for all Malaysians with no life and a thirst for rowling, spinning objects. As with the usual routine, we gave the gentleman among us the first go. Suprisingly, it was this blogger. There I was, walking down the lane with a pair of rented shoes. I stooped, and released a series of stunning rolls down the polished pavement. All apparent was the score (at each throw) which was near to the numerical equivalent for the expression ‘moron’, the zero. Melon Maniac had the ‘Beckham’ touch; curved an oversized and obese sphere of spheres to an almost beautiful swing. The bowl, as if it had a mind of its own, swerved from the far right to obliterate a couple of pins on its side! It was an amazing 30 degree turn! Talk about boomerangs in the court. CK was on form. Obtaining a high of >100, there was suspicion that he, in the early morning, had his fair share of ‘ball knocking’ in his personal space. Tai Lo wasn’t that bad either. He was trailing behind the king pin CK by a margin as liltle as 33. Yes, it was a two digit number. It’s lucky he didn’t get a diference of 50. Lay Cheng would be proud! There was a cafeteria next to the bowling lawn. In spite of that, fries wasn’t an option. But Viknesk was. Regardless of all tireless attempts at coercing him out to the outside world, he remains virtuos in his stance to be left at home at all cost. Yes, a pal with an extended schedule where his friends fit no part into it. Hmm...that reminds me of Kevin. Kevin=Brainard? Finally it was 5.00 in the evening. Time for our natural migration to Prangin. CK’s Perodua, which I will affectionately dub VF-1A was available. That’s why our ‘hike’ to and from the mall was fast and trouble-free. That is with the exclusion of the puke-inducing drive up the spiralling Car Park. For safety purposes, I brought over and wore my ever thrusted bycicle helmet. It’s the safest choice for a couple of crash dummy-wannabes. Behind, Tai Lo was constantly ramming into the Melon Maniac. Talk about centrifugal force! The VF-1A came to a halt at the rooftop. Never had anyone seen such space and emptiness since the days of attending Chemistry classes. Benzena wasn’t present, though. Once in the food court, Tai Lo ordered a fresh bowl of tom yam soup.The taste was envigorating and we decided to be parasites with a dignity worth 50 sens. It was reasonably spiced with an abundance of tau ges and other green shoots. Just like Tai Lo’s love life. Even though melon was sold, Melon Maniac didn’t have a try. Its sensuous appeal was losing its strenght on him, perhaps. Or perhaps being a fillial son is a prerequisite for his future schemes. No one knows how perverted his mind is. Okay, because of time constainst, I would like to continue this session’s excursion another time. Thank you for your patience and unpassified caffeine-stimulated senses. P.S: Getting ‘feminine’ here. Listening to Celine Dion while composing this piece of garbage littered crap written with a keyboard barely responsive to his master’s orders.

I am at it again. Please pity this blogger for his compulsive procrastination. For the past month, nothing had been posted by this genuine slacker cum imprudent wiseguy. Despite all attempts at imposing a schedule aimed to promote self-discipline, the author vigilantly guards his comfortable lifestyle of vice that include slothing and gluttony. I honestly am regretting my inactive status. The last 4 weeks had been wonderful as well as exciting. National elections was held on the 21st of March. Also, during this period of time, I went out longer with and met more friends and former schoolmates than the past 3 months since school’s over. It was a great, eventful experience. As so, I will try to address the issues and situations that had happened during this time. Oh yes, yesterday I turned 20! Okay, so I’m getting older. Nothing to be joyous for. Except for the fact that I got free food for the entire length of that day. “It’s Amazing”-Boss-level Vampire The good news so far. ‘Vampire hunting’ became a hobby. ‘Hunting lair’:Prangin Mall’s Console Game Centre, 5th floor. Watch me as I and a fellow game patron CK aka kimochi boy fought of waves of horrendously animated poligon monsters with a craving for crappy dialogue. With our plastic, sensor guns we took out round after round of ugly baddies. While senselessly swatting of the Slaves of Dracula, this particular blogger jolts, shakes,shrieks and shouts curses such as “Shit! Shit! Taste my wasabe, damn blood sucking abominations! Arrggghhhh!!” (while unleashing a trail of bullets) It’s good to be an artificial Buffy with testicles. “Call her again and I will screw you!”-Viknesk Kumarr The superb expression of a tutor-tutee (and beyond!) relationship on the rocks. The most memorable statement so far by a fellow buddy. This sums up the nature of a guy with an IQ of 140. Not bad, isn’t it? Vivid, and full of emotion. Utterly direct and straight to the point. No spin. No complications. Just undeviating comment (not to mention threat), in this instance, of my relationship with my friends and their love life. Not to worry, our brotherhood is still as cordial as ever. It should be said that, with the enormous ammount of time we have between weekends (working days for most of us, ironically), we had become a closer ‘sorority’ of sorts. Yes, I do deliberately meant sorority. A sisterhood is more implicit to our current social behaviour. Why do I say this? The word ‘emotive’ becomes relevant within our conversations. Their seemed to be a more humane, a more approachable and a less aggresive touch in our chitchats. Maybe it’s because the tense world of STPM and irritable exam questions are over. No more pressure to claim being in a ‘better’ rank and position than everybody else. No more baffling enigmas about the mysteries of the universe in mathematical form. No more annoying sarcasms from equally disturbing (and disturbed) classmates. Just, a clear, silent moment where everything, every goal, every aspiration , melts into our present reality like ice to water. Nothings supposed to be anything, nobody’s suppose to be anybody. Not to worry, this Zen-like sensation will be overtaken by a condition called ‘boredom’. “I have a fetish for ladies’ fart because they represent irrepressible urges!”-KC @ Kimochi Boy My fair Viknesk would disagree. As will most other males sane enough. Unfortunately, there aren’t many. Topics on the brink of conservative Malaysia are our delight for the last 30 days. This includes every possible ‘turn on’ from curves to character. Gossips mostly consists of the ‘ideal’ assets of a few ‘noticable’ lady colleagues. Here is a selection of our most intimate ‘exchanges’: CK: Did you know that Melon’s bum is curvy and perfectly streamlined? VK: Wow. (panting) CK: That’s because it’s comparitively large. For Square’s sake, it juts out from skirts and pants alike! Clothes just don’t fit it! VK: (speachless) CK: Once I did told her about it, as in “Nice Ass!” VK:Low-life! CK Well, it’s better than KT because he literarily talk to ladies’ ‘cups’! Other matters of interest includes the strange and forbidden entity called the female mind. It just doesn’t make any sense! You were just doing something and here comes a smack of disgust or contempt for no apparent reason. Here’s a fictional (yet realistic) account: VK: Okay, F=MxA. Force equals mass times acceleration. Got it? DR: Hmmph. (looking away) VK: Err...did you get it? Because if you didn’t... (DR breaks in between) DR: (Facing VK with a heaped up expression): What do you think I am? Stupid? Of course I got what you mean! Please! Just because you’ve such a brain doesn’t mean that you can look down on us! I know I’m stupid okay? You will never understand what idiots like me are feeling. VK: I’m just trying to make sure this tutoring session is interactive. DR: You think I don’t know what you’re thinking? I know you’re trying to shove all of your crummy ‘intellect’ into me. You think you are so great isn’t it? Since when you became that qualified to be my ‘tutor’? VK: I thought you asked me to. DR : Don’t take advantage of me anymore! I know what you’re trying to send me to with your ‘Force equals mass and acceleration’ thing. It’s one of those dirty male jokes right? Don’t think I do not know what it really is about! You’re a pervert! Bitch...(walks out of room, baffling VK) “After long consideration, we feel there is a need to set up an independent body”-EC chairman Damn right they do. Even though I wasn’t yet eligable to vote, it still does bothers me when such an important event is wrecked with confusion. Not to mention that it too had the shortest campaigning phase (just eight days!) in this counrty’s history. This is compounded by the lame excuse given by the chairman, that it was because of ‘national security’;the state, in a limit of longer than a week, could not run with a caretaker government What were they doing? Didn’t they started printing and scheduling for it since parliament was dismissed? Or when the PM stated the subject in early March? Why did the EC not publish or announce a more comprehensive guide to local election officers? What’s with the rife at Selangor and a few other states? Enough of the inquiries. Anyway, as expected BN won as it always has with a 2/3 majority. The biggest ‘shock’, as is asserted by the mainstream media, is the loss of PAS in Terenganu and various other state seats in the heartland. A sudden, negative turn for fundamentalism? Not really, to me. Over the past five years, PAS’s victory and image had been hyped up. This, along with the oftern ridiculous statements made by their party chiefs and leaders, alienated and terrorised many into thinking that they were ‘Taliban’ style bureaucrats and politicians. It is often forgotten that the gains in PAS in ’99 were due to a protest movement rather than a real burgeoning move for a more theocratic state. Felt threatened by these self-imposed moral guardians? Seen the ads posted and articles written about their potential ‘extremism’? In spite of the fact that they do hold up an ideology and system similiar to what were propogated by the Taliban, PAS isn’t the Kalshnikov wielding warrior fanatic fighting a bloody cause. They continue to choose the ‘civilised’ option of gaining power. By going ahead and getting involved in a voting system, they refute most violent actions as this option isn’t particularly ‘savvy’ among the majority of the rakyat. That isn’t to say that there isn’t a dip of radical ideas with them. By the contrary, they do want to impose a more extreme version of a religious state as compared to the others. However, we shouldn’t just go along with these scares as if their were an ala Iranian Revolution waiting to happen. Fear had too long influenced us in our choices. Do you know what our citizens love to hear and encovered in? Stability. Moderation. All fine values apart from that if taken to the instant where even change is to be annulled, this very state risks being stagnant. Why don’t we try being a liltle bit ‘possesive’? Why don’t we ask for a better transportation system? Why always enthrust on Perodua or Proton as the alternative? Why can’t their be an efficient way in dealing with congestion? What about the garbage? Aren’t most Malaysian towns, excluding perhaps the Klang Valley, dirt-laden? Why are our Municipal Councils members chosen from the top ? Why not ask for them to be directly selected from the bottom? “You sloth! No work, no pay yet money flies into your pockets!”-Kevin It is arguably the best description of my life, post-STPM. Kudos to Kevin who doesn’t have any free time for his good pals, as he’s busy partaking in a sacred ceremonial rite with the opposite gender named ‘dating’. Hopefully in will stop being a one-way affair, with Kev unconciously chatting to an inanimate object rather than his precious princess.

A few days ago, my 'good pal'(extra emphasis on the '...') Jega told me there will be a futsal competition today. With all dignity thrown of the window, I decided to take this opportunity to make my 'talents' known to the outside world. With my agile feet, robust physique and suave personality I will be in Old Trafford in no time. Don't even mention about the golden boots. Ferdinand will be mesmerised by my 'Great Wall of China' move. He would, with all his years of proffesional play, be stunned into submission for its simplicity and grace. Imagine him right now, rolling around Highbury's greens with both hands clenched onto his ever shrinking forehead, struggling to gurgle in the last breath of his sane mind: "All those years of scurring from one side of the field to the other! All those months of intensive training and stuidous resolute! All those days spent in the gym flexing those triceps of his! All wasted for I do not know the wisdom of Soon Lee's flabby and inept metabolism!" "What is the 'Great Wall of China'?", you may ask. Also known as the 'Berlin Wall', 'The Great Wall of China" is the trouble-free yet effective way of seeding out those pesky strikers. It involves a fortitude of great virtues such as the compounded lazyness of a Form 6 student, the futile pessimism of STPM and the brick-laden ignorance of exam day and assignment deadlines. Now to reveal the tactic which make Bergkamps stutter, Ronaldos raging: Stand still like the tembok you are, and hope for the best. The first implication on your would-be opponent is bewilderment by your unorthodox style of play followed by a period of denial of what has happened. Finally, the decapitating sense of his own subconcious will invade his alredy dysfunctional concious self. The player will then be heaped with such paranoia that he will charge back and score an own goal. How about it? Okay, to be honest it only works in theory. But, isn't that enough? Alright enough about the author's sly handling. Now, back to the competition. As it turned out the match was to be held at 2.15pm. At around 12 pm, most of our local Real Madrid(Extra emphasis on the 'Real'. irony: this is the pirated version) team has arrived with the exeption of yours truly. As because he hasn't indulged in the vast multitude of cullinary delights out there in Penang, this leading star player was short of energy and so decided to have lunch. Participants include the ever devious left-front striker Yeoh Kee Chai with his harmless looking 'Chicken Walk' hat-tricks and headers. Not to be left behind is Viknesk Kumarr, known in Chelsea as 'Mutu' (pirated version) the overzealous defender with a reputation for his high 'it's-in-your-face' karate chops. Then there is the former school player, Boon-ho. With his surprisingly mobile yet innacurate (with the exeption of those directed at Kee Chai's face) kicks, he jolts managers and coachers alike into a deep stance of regret and loss. Oh yeah, there was Pok-Ban as well. Finally, the clock stikes 2.15pm Greenwich Mean Time+8. Yet because of the state of the economy as well as the deep poverty our team members are in, we decided to forfeit the game(despite the fact that we are world reknown footballers) and receive kudos from our wallets. We continue on vigilantly to pursue other modes of contest. The free-for-all rag tag St Xavier's courtyard would do just fine for our egalitarian method of doing things. Before you knew it, it was three o-clock and most of us decided to return to their respective houses. P.S:By the way, I met Wen Fong today in Parkson's. For those who do not know who Wen Fong is, he is another of my 'good pals' with a striking resemblance to Thierry Henry

Yes, rest assured. I'm getting lazier these days. Just a few weeks after this blog's official launch, signs of ineptitude has already ran rampant. One of its symptoms is a good ol' friend of mine. Procrastination. Yes, the thought of "Aiya, tommorow lah" has brought this blogger to a standstill. How embarrising. Others might contend with the problems of having "Writer's Block", but me? The lame excuse of giving rest to one more day. That is why I haven't been writing quite profusely. (read the numbers:only 3 entries for 3 months) Hopefully I will pick up the pace and get my ass into the commitment that's needed. With any luck I will be up next morning,my soul burning with desire and passion to start up the computer and compose the next Great Malaysian Blog. With a bit of diligence I may as well ignore breakfast and all those other distractions (such as bathing and brushing your molars to a clear gleaming blush) in the quest to pursue the ultimate expression of free will and creative spirit this side of the earth. As you can read above, blogging is an intensive, time consuming activity. Bloggers are not unlike artists, compounding personal visions and inspirations into public composition, restlessly believing and burdening themselves with presentation and effect. In other words, we do things that excuse us for not getting real jobs. Please be vigilant and stay tuned to this site. For tommorow holds the birth of a new literary Picasso. P.S:My buddy Viks just got himself a cellphone. Finally, the merciless serial SMS messenger had a victim!!

Yeeaaarrrgghhh!! I just love Howard Dean

I'll be frank with you. This is not my idea. It shouldn't have been publicly visible. However, as because I do not have a life ( or a 'meaning' to it) I might as well pour out my innermost monologues of this past month. (This is an advisory given by my friend cum talented pshycoanalyst Viks) I have been thinking. Had most of us thought about that one day,we won't be alive anymore? Well, troughtout this entire period of delusion (which coincided with major festivalities: major exothermic firecrackers going of, pesky mutterings of relatives about your 'future'. Coincidential? No) I have taken such into deep reckoning, and came out frightened, shocked and finally, grieving. It was easy to get over the sudden depth of you not existing anymore. You just go *bampf*. No pain. No terror. However, after realising that it may not be anything more than turning off your computer screen, then it came. The profound sadness. The iminent lost of everything and everyone you love. It is just so heartbreaking. So horrendous. Death, as I may see it at that time, wasn't terrifying or sensational. It was a depressing farewell. However after much contemplation and reading, I had realised that death shoudn't be that. I have had a glance at the writings of those who deal with death at a regular basis (The hospice movement, that is) and I found out that death is a triumph for all of us after having struggled for our ideals and beliefs for so long. With a touch of honesty, I truly do not know the true significance of that view of life as because of the fact that I am still young and naive. Yet, I believe I had found comfort in it. After saying so much, I am still very much clueless at what death is. Like Confucious once said "How to know death when you do not know life?" Perhaps it would be better for me to take my life one step at a time than to rush things further. Or to contemplate in more abstract theories about the meaning, and the nature of life.

Heard this while walking around in Botanical Gardens: "Tahun inilah kita jadi penakhluk dunia yang tercinta ini! Tahun inilah bermulanya keazaman untuk merdekakan hutan-hutan dan zoo-zoo daripada gengaman manusia! Tahun inilah barisan pembebasan monyet bertindak! Saudara sekalian, Telah lama kita diberi makanan yang tidak bernilai daripada mereka. tidakah bapa, emak, adik dan abang berasa maruah bapa, emak, adik dan abang dihasuti oleh perbuatan yang jahat lagi bedebah mereka? Saya tahu, sebagai seekor monyet yang hidup di suatu pulau, akan betapa sukar untuk kita mencari buah0-buahan yang dinikmati kita. Tetapi janganlah kita dipukau oleh manusia ini, makanan mereka hanyadapat membuat perut kita becut dan membulat! Sebagai seekor monyet, menjadi gemuk adlah petanda kematian kita! Center of gravity kita akan menjadi lebih stabil, menyebabkan badan kita kekurangan torque untuk menganyun dari pkok ke pokok. Sebagai ringkasan, jadilah kita target praktis kepada pemburu-pemburu yang majoritinya manusia! Manusia ini tidak berhati perut! Manusia ini tidak berhati berut! Jadi, ikutlah kita, dengan sepupu kita di Sabah dan Afrika, menganas dan memusnahkan kesemua yang dibina oleh spesies yang melampau ini! Jadilah Mojo-jojo, tetapi jangan Cheetah (tarzan punya chimpanzee)!" The seeds of a separatist movement? Yet such news isn't suprising, since this is the year of the monkey. So, open up your eyes. Look deep into the trees growing in your neighbourhood. You may find a simian friend of yours (this does not exclude the hairless-ape-party-animal-big-brained-moron variety) ready to engage in gorrila warfare (forgive the pun) Let me assure you that as a curious human being and a monkey's uncle (my friends will defintely concur), I will be watching this monkeys' business for a long time.
posted by gohli @ 5:10 PM 0 comments